El Corazón del Pirata
by A Drop of Starlight
Summary: Antonio Fernández Carriedo is captain of the pirate ship Trinidad. Lovino Vargas is an Italian prisoner forced to help them as a guide. But what happens when captain and captive draw closer together? Perhaps love can melt the pirate's heart. (Rated T for swearing and violence)
1. Expect the Unexpected

_**~ For Michi ~**_

* * *

**EL CORAZ****Ó**N DEL PIRATA 

**-THE HEART OF A PIRATE-**

**Chapter 1 - Expect the Unexpected**

* * *

The day was still young, but the omens were unclear.

In fact, nothing else was clear at all, not even their location. They were somewhere in the south of Europe, that was all he knew. Probably _el Mediterráneo_ by now. He could tell from the tightness of the air around him, the way the sun seemed to glare down upon the ocean, the calm and clear water rippling as they raced past.

South was good. South was safe. Few knew of them here, and those who did might not recognize them at first glance. And many from these countries, he had heard, were fairly wealthy. That was a point in their favor. After the past few days some luck was definitely in order.

If Fate had been kinder to them they wouldn't be here in the first place. At least, he liked to think it was Fate, since she always accepted the blame without any argument. Thanks to her a small victory had been theirs, but the English _diablo _always had tricks up his sleeve. He was the reason why they were fleeing now—no, not fleeing, simply taking a detour. However one looked at it, though, being anywhere within a hundred leagues of Spain was now completely out of the question. They had cruised too far and committed one too many blunders.

Antonio Fernández Carriedo, captain of the _Trinidad, _thus had a problem.

It was a problem all new pirate captains had to face—how exactly to organize men who had, a few days since, still been his almost-equals. The recent loss to the English had cost the former captain his title, and his life. Antonio had taken his place fairly quickly, because he was accepted and friendly to the others. And because no one could see through the friendliness in his green eyes to the man within. He had helped remove the last captain in the quickest, most painless way possible. Now they were probably expecting him to kill half his men and recruit more as soon as they got ashore.

Effortless intimidation. A point in _his _favor, now, that was.

It would work if he played his cards right.

Antonio was one of those men who rarely, if ever, passed up opportunities. And the former captain's failure had been a golden one. Not a soul had expected him to directly challenge the captain's leadership, although he _had _been the quartermaster for quite a long while. Perhaps that was why they had chosen him, because Antonio knew better than anyone else how things went about on the _Trinidad, _kept tempers even and spirits high, and didn't cultivate resentment among the crew.

At least, he thought he didn't. From a captain's standpoint, the men below him were little more than a pack of snarling hounds. The trick was to keep them moving and distracted so they wouldn't sharpen their claws. But one false move and they would be at his heels, snapping to bring him down; and Antonio's was as precarious a position as any. There were always more plots afoot on this ship than he could count—that meant anything could happen in these first few days to depose him.

Antonio was smarter than he looked, however, and that was saying much. Nothing would catch him unawares if he could help it.

* * *

Late afternoon, and they were still sailing. But the sun was slowly beginning to set, which meant their time was short, and Antonio did not wish to attempt landing by nightfall. The dark provided cover, but the rocky coasts were never worth the risk.

He had half a mind to yell for Santiago, the navigator, when unusually soft footsteps sounded at his doorway. Sure enough, it was him, the ever ruffled-looking man with dark eyes and spectacles askew. He could pass for an unassuming scholar by most standards, but Antonio knew better from his days as quartermaster.

"Cap'n," said the short navigator, with a deferential almost-bow, what looked to be a map still rolled up in one hand. The captain beckoned him inside good-humoredly.

"Come in, come in. Did you find out where we are?"

"Nearing Italy, cap'n," Santiago answered. "My calculations say we're off the coast of Sicily."

Then all was well. They would have somewhere to land, at last. Not only that, but Italy was a rich place and they were very much in need of rich places after days of costly, uneventful sailing. Antonio was fairly sure the Italians had not been visited by Spanish pirates very much. He would make it his job, then, to reacquaint them with that experience.

"I believe I found where we can land, cap'n, I'll show you," Santiago suggested, interrupting his thoughts.

How nice, the navigator knew just what his captain wanted.

Antonio watched from nearby as he unrolled the map slowly, bringing him within view of a neatly drawn Italian peninsula. He could see the places the navigator was referring to, and in a glance took in the marked-off Sicilian coast. They had been sailing southwards through open ocean for too long, which accounted for days without seeing land. At least, that was what Santiago seemed to be saying.

But the details escaped the captain's attention, because the way Santiago was opening the parchment, slowly, while clutching the other end closed, gave him an ominous feeling. A sinister air clung to him as he talked. It was almost as if he was hiding something there, with his other hand...

Just as Antonio's warning instinct told him to step back, the map unraveled, and the familiar glint of metal set off a red alert in his mind, immediately confirming his suspicions. And then, suddenly, the navigator was lunging towards him, dagger in hand.

Antonio had not moved a moment too soon. The blade sliced through the air inches away, just penetrating the loose fabric of his sleeve, before Antonio knocked it out of the other man's grip and it clattered to the floor. A well-aimed kick with his boot rendered the navigator harmless, and as Santiago writhed in pain on the floor, Antonio held him down with one foot on his chest and the edge of a cutlass at his throat.

"You were saying?" he asked, with no trace of humor. "I believe we were talking about where we would... land."

Santiago choked and struggled still, giving no appreciable reply.

"... Really, I expected better of you, mi amigo." Antonio sighed. "Trying to kill your poor _capitán _on his third day? Who else is in on this?"

"N-no one," the navigator gasped.

The captain gave him a sad smile. "I hope so. I hate replacing people, but you've left me no other choice..."

The man's struggles only intensified as his eyes widened in horror. Evidently he remembered what had happened a few days prior.

"N-no...! Please, cap'n, spare me! Por favor...! I won't do it again, I _promise_—"

The cutlass dug just a bit deeper into his neck, drawing blood.

"Would you now?" Antonio gave the lowest of chuckles. "We'll have to see then... some other time. Take him down to the hold!"

As if on cue, two of his crewmen stepped in to collect the new prisoner, even as he shouted and begged for mercy. Antonio had seen enough of this to know the routine. There never was any mercy to be given. Only the softhearted landlubbers were foolish enough for such forgiveness, and that was their loss. To forgive, on a pirate ship, was to admit inferiority, and in doing so accept certain death.

Antonio, for one, would not opt for it as long as he remained captain.

As for what would happen to Santiago...

The hold was never a pleasant place to be, especially on such a large ship as the _Trinidad, _but it was doubly true when seen from a prisoner's point of view. A few days of torture below decks in that damp, smelly, rat-infested enclosure and the man would spill everything, or die in the attempt. The results never varied. At any rate he would no longer be returning to the ship as before. Perhaps they would throw him overboard afterward, or abandon him on a deserted island; it was no concern of Antonio's.

The captain watched them go, then closed the cabin door and resumed his post at his window. One navigator short, and the possibility of more mutiny ahead. This would be more difficult than he had previously thought.

* * *

"Land ho! Land ho!"

The long-awaited cry roused the ship, and the silence reigning over the _Trinidad _was quickly broken. Crewmen sprang to action, directing the large vessel through the now shallow waters to the rocky coast, fighting against the setting sun. They dropped anchor just a short distance from a small beach, and Antonio sent several men ashore to scout about. It seemed Santiago had, at least, been telling the truth about where they were.

Antonio himself watched from the bow, taking in the new sights. So _this _was the Italy he had heard so many tales of. At the moment it didn't look like much except a field of sand interspersed with rocks; in fact, very much like the beaches back home in Spain. But once they sailed northwards and reached the cities things would be different. The stories of Venice's gilded splendor had been with Antonio as long as he could remember. He had seen it for himself, after all, many years ago. And in just a few days some—or much—of that wealth could be _his_.

Then sudden yelling shattered the quiet.

"Pirates! _Pirates!_ Run, sorella! Don't fucking wait for me, _go!_"

Italian. An Italian man yelling. Antonio could just understand what he was shouting. A girl's terrified scream sounded from off to his right, followed by the sound of a scuffle, and the captain attempted to catch a better look.

By the time he found a good vantage point, the scene was largely deserted. The girl who had screamed was nowhere in sight. But his men on the beach were clustered around someone, who, judging from his voice, was probably the Italian man. He was still putting up a hearty fight as they struggled to tie him up and load him into the boat, and it looked about as tough as lifting a sack of gold. Antonio suppressed a smile at that.

In any case, this was something new. Another prisoner added to their quota, but better than that—someone well-informed about Italy, which meant that this time they would actually have a guide to help them find their treasure.

Yes, Fate definitely was with them today. He was thankful for being wrong. Those English pirates could sink in a whirlpool for all he cared. He went back to his cabin and waited for his crew to deliver the prisoner.

It was only a matter of minutes before his men returned with their Italian cargo, although, Antonio observed sadly, the girl was not with them. Oh well. Men could be made to obey just as well as women, and Antonio was more aware of that fact than most.

"Well, now, what have we here?" he said jovially as the Italian was brought in and deposited none-too-gently on the floor. A pair of murderous-looking hazel eyes fixed upon him, and the man suddenly unleashed the worst verbal assault Antonio had ever heard from a captive. In Italian.

"What the hell, you piece of shit!? Why the fuck am I here? You'd better let me go, you fucking pirate, or you'll fucking get it!"

Antonio burst out laughing.

It was some bravery this Italian had, to cross a pirate captain in this way. And in all Antonio's many years of raiding the high seas he had _never, not once _encountered a hostage quite like this one.

If it had been anyone else he might have killed them for such open defiance, but this prisoner was actually useful. And somehow all he wanted to do here was laugh. Laugh, he certainly did. Such a welcome feeling it was. It took him a long time to recover, and when he did he had to make a huge effort not to guffaw at the Italian's indignant face.

"A feisty one, I see!" Antonio exclaimed once he had regained control of himself. "You'll enjoy it here, then! Welcome!"

Now it was the Italian's turn to look shocked, and comically so. His mouth fell open as he gaped at Antonio with eyes the size of saucers.

"... How the _fuck _do you know Italian!?"

"That's a story for another time," Antonio said cheerfully, as though speaking to a small child. Indeed the Italian was small. And indeed he was having a fit of temper, just like a child. And—it was hard to deny—he was rather attractive too. Judging by appearances the Italian certainly wasn't from a poor family. His face looked soft and not at all thin, his now-red cheeks seemed to ask to be pinched. And he had an unruly strand of hair shaped like a curl. Antonio rather wanted to touch it.

"Anyway, I'm Antonio Fernández Carriedo, captain of the _Trinidad!_" He introduced himself with a bow and a flourish. "What's _your_ name, mi amigo?"

"I'm not your fucking friend," snarled the Italian, as though he hadn't heard the 'captain' bit, struggling valiantly at his bonds. "And I'm not fucking telling you my name. Let. Me. _Go._"

Antonio had no intention of complying, of course. It was humorous, playing around with this man.

"Lo siento, but I couldn't do that! You're Italian, sí? We'll need you to help us find treasure!" he said in the happiest voice he could muster, which wasn't all that difficult given the situation. "And do tell me your name, or I'll have to call you Rotten-Mouth, and I'm sure that won't sound as nice as your real name!"

The Italian's face darkened in response. Success.

Oh, this was the best amusement he had had in years.

"... My _name_," said the Italian through gritted teeth, "is _Lovino. _Lovino fucking Vargas. Get it _right._ And I'm _not _helping you steal from my own damn country."

Lovino Vargas. An uncommon name. And how very endearing, too. But he certainly _was_ difficult to convince. Antonio would have to work on that before they reached Venice... there was time for that later, however.

For now, his primary concern was what to _do _with such a fiery captive as this one. Throwing him in the hold with Santiago would be too much of a waste, but letting him run around on deck would be equally disastrous, if not more.

Decisions, decisions...

The Italian glared at him, as though he'd like nothing more than to murder Antonio in his bed. The captain sighed inwardly. Having Lovino around would cause no end of problems, unless he thought of something soon. But judging from the way things had started out, whatever happened next was bound to be interesting.

And Antonio lived for interesting.

* * *

**_Translations_**

_El Mediterráneo (Spanish) – the Mediterranean (Sea)_

_Diablo (Spanish) – devil_

_Trinidad (Spanish) – Trinity_

_Mi amigo (Spanish) – my friend_

_Capitán (Spanish) – captain_

_Sorella (Italian) – sister_

_Lo siento (Spanish) – sorry_

_Sí (Spanish) – yes_

**_Pirate things/etc_**

_Quartermaster - Essentially the second-in-command. He made most of the decisions on the ship and kept things nice among the crew, although the Captain still had authority in battle._

_Navigator - Basically determined locations and suchlike. _

_Landlubber - People living on land. X'D Or people with no experience in seafaring._

_Hold - The lower deck of a pirate ship, where cargo or prisoners were kept. It was pretty nasty down there, and yes, there were many rats. _

_Bow - The front part of a ship. (I think.)_

* * *

**Hi everyone! It's been a long time since I've written anything here, haha. Stuff happened and I lost my inspiration for a lot of things but here's a little something I couldn't not write because of an awesome person I love very much ^_^ You know who you are! :^) Pirate AUs are always really fun, except I fail at their speech and seafaring terms, so pointing out any mistakes will be greatly appreciated! X'D**

**Thank you very much! :'D**

**Adios for now~**


	2. The Captain Saves a Man

**Chapter 2 - The Captain Saves a Man**

* * *

His first thought was _Oh no, they fucking want my life. _

His second thought was _Oh no, they fucking want money._

His third was _Oh _fuck, _they fucking want _food.

And because he had such luck, the third was what he was now forced to act on.

So Lovino Vargas found himself in a godforsaken hellhole of a galley, surrounded by menacing kitchen utensils, even more menacing pirate supervision and, worst of all, food decomposing everywhere he looked.

In a word, it was horrendous.

This must be some sort of a joke. This must be some sort of nightmare, from which he could awaken if he just pinched himself hard enough. But the bruises they had given him still hurt noticeably and the shame of having been taken prisoner still stung strongly. He was not dreaming at all; he would not be returning to his sorella and fratello anytime soon, until he found some way to escape this damned pirate ship.

It didn't help that his first instinct was to grab a knife and leap out the window. That would be all very well and good if Lovino were several pounds lighter and had the willpower to attempt that acrobatic feat. But he was in plain view of a very burly, very inhuman-looking, very well-armed pirate standing guard at the doorway. The quartermaster, he thought. And then there was the cook—an incredibly busty, suntanned old woman they called "Abuela." She had immediately given up her apron and retired to the corner once Lovino had been introduced to the galley, and now she was watching him work from across the table while arranging the kitchen knives.

"Remember, no stealing food, _hombrecito_," she said lazily, leaning back in her chair and pulling out a silver-hilted dagger from the folds of her dress. "An' no poisoning—but the poison's here if ya need it." She tapped the dagger blade with a crooked smile, observing him closely.

This certainly was a merry company Lovino had stumbled into.

Making sure to keep an eye on the now-dangerous old woman, he gulped and went shakily to the shelves, resolve drained. His eyes scanned the putrid ingredients. What exactly had they ordered him to cook again?

Oh yes. They expected him to make paella. _Paella. _Paella was a Spanish food. He was Italian. Italians could make paella.

But where the fuck did they think they were, a gourmet _restaurant?_

Lovino narrowly stopped himself from spearing a maggot with the kitchen knife, then did so anyway, earning a surprising bit of applause from Abuela.

"Becoming one of us, are ye?" Her expression had become rather more welcoming, and she called to the man standing guard at the doorway. "Did ya see that, Eduardo? He's got good aim!"

"Just get him to make the damn grub," the man named Eduardo said tersely, stony-faced. "Got me stomach to think of." Lovino slowly turned away and resumed his duties.

The food must be why everyone was such a _figlio di puttana_—if this was what they called food. They must have been sailing for quite a while to have such fucked-up rations; Lovino thought he might vomit if he found yet another piece of ten-day-old meat swarming with insects. There was no way he could concoct _anything _edible from this mess of a kitchen. Which meant they would probably kill him for it.

At least the Vargas family wouldn't lose their daughter, since sorella had escaped... he was certain enough of that, or she would be tied up here like him, or even worse. He shuddered and pushed the unpleasant thoughts out of his mind. There was no denying that pirates were unscrupulous and immoral assholes of the lowest kind. And there was also no denying that Lovino Vargas hated them all with a burning passion. As any man in his right mind would if he had lost one too many loved ones to evil bastards like these. He always tried not to dwell on it, but to no avail.

The Vargas family was never good at hiding their hatred. Feliciano, of course, was out of the question. Chiara did what any good sorella would—she fell to stabbing old clothes with her needles. If Nonno had still been here he would have set the mountains to shaking. Lovino Vargas, meanwhile, simply made use of his God-given instrument of expression—his mouth. In his short twenty-three years of life it had proven to be a fearsome weapon in the field of human relations. Mostly because he had trouble reining it in.

Sadly, though, it didn't seem to work on pirates. Especially that good-for-nothing pirate captain.

That was really some nerve he had had, to laugh in Lovino's face as if he were an idiot and then put him to work as if he was of no consequence. Anton... Antonio... whatever the fuck his name was. He didn't even act like a pirate captain, for the love of God. Who the _hell _did he think he was dealing with?

_Fottutissimo pezzo di merda, _Lovino thought murderously as he murdered more maggots. All of them were.

But, speak of the devil. No sooner had his mind strayed to that offending excuse for a captain than the man in question appeared in the doorway, green eyes positively sparkling as he caught sight of Lovino. The Italian chose to interpret that look as "I'm going to kill you if you don't cook now," and decided he would have to put on a show.

"How's the cooking going, amigo?"

Fuck. Fuck it all.

"...Good," he settled for answering, very much aware that all eyes were now fixed on him, even Abuela's.

"Only good...? Not _fantástico?_" The captain looked facetiously disappointed—not a good sign. "Did you have trouble finding ingredients?"

How friendly of him to ask—evidently he had noticed the tabletop was still mostly empty except for a pile of dead maggots. Lovino could have made a living killing them.

"Sì," he gritted out. "I still need tomatoes."

The Spaniard's face lit up at the mention of that particular food. "Right over there, amigo!" he said cheerfully—did he always address everyone as his friend?—and directed Lovino to a barrel in the corner. Sure enough, it was full of the blessed red fruit, surprisingly unspoiled; the mouthwatering aroma filled the galley the moment he lifted the lid.

"We got them from our last victory over those scurvy Englishmen!" the captain added, effectively ruining the good humor with his own. "Tomatoes are _muy_ _delicioso_, don't you agree?"

Lovino did agree. He watched as Captain Antonio strode over to the barrel, speared an unsuspecting tomato with his cutlass and popped it into his mouth, humming slightly. The Italian was suddenly struck by how pleasant he looked, with his laughing green eyes and wide smiling mouth and slightly curly brown hair. He could have been an actor in a play, maybe the main character, in one of those love stories Lovino hated going to see but did anyway. There was something about him that didn't fit here, something in his speech, his manner. How had he ended up as a swashbuckling pirate captain, anyway? That smile of his probably hid all manner of things, but—

He looked too... too _good _to be one.

Lovino realized with a start exactly where his mind was heading, but it was already too late. No, no, it could not be. He was Lovino Vargas and Lovino fucking Vargas knew better than to have such thoughts, damn it! And he was going to escape this ship as soon as it made another landing in Italy, handsome pirates or not.

Then the captain winked at him.

Oh no. Oh _no, _he had not just done that. Not only dangerous but _dangerously fucking flirtatious, _to boot-! Lovino whipped back around to hide the traitorous warming of his face and started furiously chopping tomatoes.

This could not be happening. This could _not_ be happening.

"What's wrong? Your face looks like a tomate, amigo!" the cause of his misery spoke up oh-so-helpfully.

_Mio Dio, kill me now..._

Nothing was going his way today, nothing at all.

* * *

Antonio, meanwhile, found he was actually having the time of his life. His men truly had made a wise choice in capturing this funny little Italian. Not only could he cook, but he was also wildly receptive to the Spanish charm...! The _Trinidad_'s captain couldn't believe his luck. It wasn't as though he hadn't tried some things on his mates in the past, and perhaps a few women as well, but the former were all brawn and no brain, while the latter all fawned over him in the most ridiculous way possible. He had no need of them; they came and went like birds on an ocean breeze.

This Lovino was different, however, he could tell at first glance—he stuttered and blushed and reacted in the most delightful way, as though he _didn't _want attention. Oh, but that certainly did warrant attention. Antonio couldn't quite keep his eyes off him. Here was a new source of amusement, all for himself!

He strode up to the still-quivering Italian and peered over his shoulder at the paella still under construction. That meant getting right up close to the smaller man, but that was Antonio's intention, after all!

"Need some help with that, mi amigo~?" he asked in a low voice, right next to Lovino's ear, and was instantly rewarded by a heated blush from the Italian as he leapt away.

Ah, how adorable.

"Get the fuck away from me!" Lovino spluttered, dropping the knife in his haste. It seemed he'd once more reverted to his former offensive self. "Or I'm—I'm going to fucking hurt you! Bastardo!"

It really was strange how Antonio felt no urge to kill him. Similar situations like these had sprung up often, in many variations, and he had frequently acted upon them without the slightest qualm. But he couldn't this time. This man was simply too... too... what was the word?

Oh yes. _Interesting_.

"_Me, _you say?" Antonio pretended to look surprised and hurt instead. "But I'm your _capitán_! Why me?"

"Because you're an asshole and a pervert, you fucking stupid pirate."

"¿Qué? I don't think your face agrees."

This was too amusing. Much too amusing. And the Italian's expression was such a reward.

"Y-you—"

He was reduced to random bursts of Italian, interspersed with swear words, eyes radiating murderous hate.

Antonio laughed.

Abuela laughed.

Even the ever-stoic Eduardo laughed.

Lovino still stood there in silent indignation, staring from one to the other open-mouthed, red-faced. For several minutes nothing else happened. They didn't stop laughing. He didn't stop fuming.

And then, suddenly, he bolted.

They knew something like this would happen, expected it. Prisoners always tried to escape, even if it was useless. Maybe no one had told Lovino the ship had already set sail. What a pity.

Antonio was the first to see, but Abuela reacted even faster, as was her wont, dangerous woman that she was. Her eyes glinted with the thrill of a new opportunity, reminding Antonio of something old and feral, with killer instincts.

"Can't ever run from us, hombrecito!" she called.

And before Antonio could stop her, she reached for her dagger, flinging it at the retreating man in one fluid motion.

"_No!_"

Antonio only faintly recognized the voice as his own.

Everything else after that seemed to happen in slow motion. He found himself moving, diving forward to push the Italian out of harm's way. A sharp pain bloomed in Antonio's upper arm and then they both hit the ground with a thud, Lovino letting out a small grunt. The Italian man's eyes widened as he took in the sight of the silver-handled dagger embedded in Antonio's arm.

"Holy mother of fuck..."

Antonio stared down at him.

"What?"

"... She said it was _poison._"

Loud thumps on the wooden floorboards announced Abuela's approach. In the next moment she was before them, standing over them, quiet. But her eyes showed no trace of sympathy, and the reality hit Antonio as his heart sank a little lower.

"You too," he whispered.

"Ye finally realized it, cap'n," the old woman chuckled, glancing down at the dagger. "What a shame. Givin' yer life to save a filthy little prisoner... Always knew ye were too soft-hearted for the job. Could've let someone else take it instead..." Her face hardened slightly, and when she spoke again her voice was cold with a touch of mockery. "Ye shoulda been kinder to my Santiago, _cap'n_, but ye killed him. Ain't forgivin' ye now, no sir."

"I didn't kill him."

Antonio gritted his teeth, pulling the dagger out.

"Oh, but ye did, cap'n. Don't lie to me."

Three things happened at once. Abuela drew forth another knife, preparing to finish him—and possibly Lovino—off. Antonio braced himself and raised the dagger, poised to throw. Then another blade zipped from out of nowhere—Eduardo's. It buried deep into Abuela's chest and she blinked down at it. Silence.

She stood swaying for a moment, then smiled around at all of them.

"Today, I be learning one thing. There be a curse on this ship, a curse of blood. The day will come when ye all realize what ye're doin'. I had enough. I be waitin' from up high with me son, and that day we'll be a-laughin'. Ye'll see..."

Her face still peaceful, she closed her eyes and slid to the floor.

Eduardo made his way over to her body with quick strides and stooped to examine her.

"She's dead," he announced after a minute, then looked over to where Antonio and Lovino were. "All right, cap'n?"

"Sí," answered Antonio. But he glanced at himself and realized he was bleeding all over the Italian man beneath him. Lovino simply stared up at him in stupefied shock. Was that his mouth moving to say something? What was it he had been telling Antonio before?

Oh.

Poison.

It was his last thought before everything went black.

* * *

**_Translations_**

_Abuela (Spanish) – Grandmother_

_Hombrecito (Spanish) – Little man_

_Figlio di puttana (Italian) – Son of a bitch (Lovi's mouth—hahahah)_

_Sorella (Italian) – Sister_

_Fratello (Italian) - Brother_

_Nonno (Italian) – Grandpa_

_Fottutissimo pezzo di merda (Italian) – Fucking piece of shit_

_Fantástico (Spanish) – Fantastic_

_Muy delicioso (Spanish) – Very delicious_

_Mio Dio (Italian) – My God_

_Bastardo (Italian) - Bastard_

_¿Qué? (Spanish) – What?_

_Capitán (Spanish) - Captain_

**_Pirate stuff/etc._**

_Galley – The ship's kitchens_

_Paella – A Valencian rice dish that originated in its modern form in the mid-19th century near Lake Albufera, a lagoon in Valencia, on the east coast of Spain. The word paella derives from the French word paelle for pan._

_Grub – The pirate word for food._

_Just a note - Antonio doesn't speak like the other pirates, but for a reason that will be revealed later._

* * *

**Hah, a cliffhanger... of sorts? I didn't kill off Antonio though! X'D To tell the truth this was a really weird chapter and I kind of dislike it, but it just kind of... happened. Yeah. And a lot of OCs, to be sure, but they were needed. ****I've never done anything like this story before, so I think things might have moved too quickly here... tell me what you think though! Corrections, criticisms, anything! Thanks everyone!**


	3. Let Your Guard Down

**Chapter 3 - Let Your Guard Down**

* * *

It had been one full day since the 'incident' in the galley, which had been cleaned up and hidden away as quickly as possible. No open talk was made of the old woman who had suddenly vanished from the ship, and she was quickly forgotten as each pirate came to his own conclusions on the matter—rumors, short-lived, would only spread for a time. But it was difficult to rid such memories from the minds of three men: one who had witnessed it, one who had ended it, and one who was probably fighting for his life at this very moment.

Presently, the aforementioned witness was sitting outside the galley, drained and sleepless after a night spent beautifying the kitchen floors, and also from nearly constant thoughts of the third man. He had learned he would be forced to work whether he liked it or not; but one would think they might actually_ allow_ him to see the captain just once, since they mattered to each other now.

At least that was what Lovino wanted to think. It was probably one-sided anyway.

The sound of loud boots hitting the newly cleaned floor caught his attention and he glanced up wearily. Then he hurriedly jumped to his feet. It was true that he was none too fond of Eduardo, and the feeling might possibly be mutual, but he was the only one who had any sort of information right now.

The words tumbled out of Lovino's mouth before he could stop them.

"Is... is he going to be all right?"

Eduardo paused and looked at him.

"They gave the antidote."

Lovino took a heavy breath.

"And? ...Did it _work?"_

Eduardo shrugged.

"Maybe, maybe not."

The Italian narrowed his eyes defiantly at the Spanish quartermaster.

He was _not _worried, damn it. There was absolutely nothing to dwell on, nothing at all. The pirate captain was going to recover and it was no concern of Lovino's, or so he told himself.

But of course it was his concern. It mattered very much, for reasons he would rather not think about.

"What the _fuck _do you mean by that?"

"I mean what I mean."

Eduardo whistled a strange tune and glanced off in the opposite direction, so that Lovino's scathing glare went virtually unnoticed. The Italian redoubled his efforts to catch the large pirate's attention but ended up venting his anger instead.

"Well, you know what, bastardo, that doesn't count for _shit. _Why can't you even give me a straight fucking answer!? Not even a damn 'yes' or 'no'. And he's your fucking _captain. _What are you even trying to—ow!"

He yelped in pain as Eduardo grabbed his arm and roughly hauled him forward.

"Ye care about him, go see him."

Lovino spluttered, face turning red as he rubbed his aching arm.

"The fuck—I-I don't even fucking c-ca—"

He was silenced by a stern look from the expressionless pirate.

"I'll not have a scurvy little prisoner fouling the air with his smart mouth. I been kind to ye already. An' don't lie to me, ye do care. So ye find him, or I send ye below decks. There be lots o' space down there..."

Lovino couldn't even tell him he wasn't allowed at all near the captain's quarters—he had already gotten up and run, with a none-too-friendly push from Eduardo. He could no longer ignore that inner voice screaming for him to visit Carriedo. And it didn't help that his heart was racing—why the fuck was it racing?—as he pondered what exactly to do when he saw the captain.

Should he throw himself into the man's arms and thank him over and over for saving him? Well fuck, that might sound nice—cough, what prisoners were probably expected to do—but Carriedo was _hurt _and—fuck it, there had to be another way. Brush him off and act like he didn't care? No, not even Lovino in his most hard-hearted state would do that, and at the moment he was feeling perfectly sane and unwilling to accept an early death.

Unwanted thoughts still plagued him, however.

Why the fuck had Carriedo saved him, anyway? He could have just stood back and watched Lovino meet his end by a poisoned dagger, but instead he had _pushed him away _and _taken the hit._ That was not something pirate captains were supposed to do! Heartless scoundrels never moved their asses to save their own, let alone a lowly, unimportant _prisoner._ Those pirates might claim they needed him to help them find treasure, and Lovino might know he was worth much more than any of them would dare to believe, but the bitter truth was that, all things considered, his life really didn't matter much on this ship.

And yet Carriedo had done the unthinkable. In that one moment, driven by some unknown motive, he had thrown all semblance of status quo out the window. There was only one reason for this that Lovino could think of, and that was the one reason he could not fucking accept.

Pirates never fucking cared about anyone.

Never. No fucking way in hell.

And prisoners did not give a single crap about their captors either.

Except Lovino Vargas.

... Fucking Spanish bastard, already messing with his damn mind.

Lovino allowed himself a large sigh as he neared the captain's quarters, and tried in vain to convince himself he was not nervous. Sure, this sort of thing didn't happen on a daily basis, but Lovino was Lovino and he found he really had no other choice. It was just his luck, after all, he thought woefully to himself as he walked along.

Oh _God_, he hoped that dratted captain was still alive, because he, Lovino Vargas, couldn't possibly live without Carriedo.

No, that was _not _a fucking declaration of love.

It was the goddamn _truth._

Surprisingly, the men standing guard in front now moved aside to let him pass, grudgingly but almost respectfully. He must have risen in status since the incident, or maybe he was now assumed to be in Carriedo's favor, or both—although judging by the unfriendly aura radiating from those pirates, it was not something he should be proud of. Lovino could hear voices from inside, one of them a familiar Spanish accent. Carriedo was all right, then.

Tentatively, Lovino took a step inside and was immediately greeted by a cheerful set of green eyes, belonging to a certain man sitting up in bed. Oh hell, the Spaniard most definitely _was_ better. It was clear he had been in the middle of a merry argument with the ship's doctor—over whether he should further rest, no less!—but it ended the moment Lovino entered the room. That was when Carriedo brightened, shooed the doctor away like some unwanted fly, and turned his full attention to the Italian. He actually looked quite himself aside from a little paleness and a bandaged arm. Lovino tried desperately not to note his lack of upper-body covering, and failed miserably.

"So you finally came to visit!" Carriedo exclaimed, favoring him with a smile. His brow furrowed the slightest bit, however. "I was thinking about you," he said rather suddenly.

Lovino choked.

"But, you're all right, so that's a good thing," the pirate rambled on, as if nothing was the matter at all. He flashed a most uncaptainly grin and beckoned Lovino closer. "Have a seat! I know you came to tell me something... important, sí?" That was not a playful eyebrow raise, because Lovino wasn't looking; he was doing as he was told, sitting his ass down in a hard wooden chair.

"I... I guess," he said, not very convincingly. Dear Lord, how the fuck did one go about expressing thanks? The last time he had done so was... oh, about thirteen years ago. Give or take ten more.

Carriedo was peering closely at him with those unavoidable, inquisitive green eyes.

"Sí?"

Just a simple thank-you. It shouldn't be that hard at all, unless one was a grumpy Italian named Lovino Vargas.

He took a deep breath and the words came out in a rush.

"I... UhthankyouforsavingmeI'mreallyfuckinggrateful."

Fuck yes, that was the way to do it. Short and simple and to the point. Someone would have to award him a chest of gold for this later, even if he already had hundreds back home. Or freedom, that sounded rather appealing too.

_Without_ a certain pirate giving him a wonderfully confused look, as though none of Lovino's thanks had even made it halfway to his ears.

"... Lo siento, I didn't hear that... Say it slower, por favor?"

Lovino suddenly felt like falling off the edge of the earth and never appearing again.

_Slowly. _

_Say it _slowly.

S-l-o-w-l-y.

"I... I th-thank you for fucking saving me, it means a whole fucking lot, okay!? There! You fucking heard it now!"

He glanced up to find Carriedo laughing.

_Laughing. _

Loudly.

And at _him, _Lovino Vargas.

"Ahahahah—lo siento, mi amigo, but your _face_, it was _muy lindo_ and I just had to! And you said it twice, so that makes it doubly special~! Don't worry about it, Lovi, it was my duty after all!"

Ugh.

Just when he'd actually begun to _start _to kind of like that asshole of a captain...

No! Pirates were never meant to be liked, damn it.

"Sh-shut the fuck up!" Lovino shouted indignantly, quite forgetting for a moment who he was talking to. "And don't fucking call me Lovi or—or I'll—"

"Or you'll what~?" Carriedo asked sweetly, making full use of his—cough—alluring Spanish accent. This was _not _the sort of conversation that normally took place between captain and prisoner. In fact, conversations were not supposed to exist at all! And if things came to that Lovino wouldn't even be here—he'd be resting at home in his beautiful Italian mansion, making small talk with his family and planning more getaways... Nevertheless the Italian felt his face warm again, followed by alarm bells clanging in his head.

"...N-nothing, asshole."

"All right then, Lovi~!"

"Fuck you."

"Hopefully soon, hm?"

Damn him to hell, Carriedo really _was_ having fun with this, wasn't he? And oh God, oh _God _there was that damned wink again, that ridiculously attractive self-assured smile and that fucking... body...

A part of Lovino's mind screamed and died.

Oh hell no.

_Hell. No._

That was the captain and he... he was still the prisoner here.

No.

"I-I'm leaving now," he announced in a not-shaky voice as he stood up, determined to be the more mature man and leave before things could get any worse. "I... still need to make the damn paella." Forgetting what had happened in the kitchen a few hours prior still required effort, however.

Evidently Carriedo was having a similar problem. His face had disappointingly lost some of its luster, but as Lovino turned to leave he grabbed hold of the Italian's hand.

"Lovino."

Cue small heart attack.

"You'll... be coming back, sí?"

The pirate actually had the gall to look _hopeful_. But not only that... there was something else in his eyes, something almost quiet and pleading, hidden in the very back of that emerald green gaze.

Carriedo really did mean what he was saying, then.

Lovino quickly looked away and gave a long, loud sigh, knowing he had absolutely no choice in the matter after all.

"Well of-fucking-course I'm coming back." Dear Lord, he had to clean his mouth, or one day he might meet his end by colorful language. "...I'm making you food, aren't I?"

Carriedo's face immediately lit up again and he squeezed Lovino's hand warmly (no, that did not feel good). "Then I'll be waiting~! You'll make it _delicioso, _just for me?"

Oh, this _man._ Lovino couldn't stop himself from rolling his eyes.

"Sì, sì, I will. J-just... let go of me. I'll be back."

And with that he pulled away his hand, turned swiftly and made his way back out the door. He was just quick enough to be out of earshot of the Captain's next words.

"Tú eres extraño... pero me caes bien."

* * *

An open book, that was it. This Lovino Vargas was an open book and Antonio could read almost every single emotion that flitted across his face—perhaps, he dared say, even his thoughts. The moment the Italian had entered the room Antonio had discerned his fear and nervousness—those two were the easiest to sense, as he had learned from years of hard experience. And then there was the Italian's obvious fascination with Antonio's body, which was flattering, to say the least. He was a most interesting creature, indeed.

And Antonio had to admit he rather liked him, in a purely pirate-captain sort of way. What a refreshing change from the cruel, hardened, scheming faces of those he called his mates. Here was someone who actually knew how to _feel_, someone whom he could tease and laugh at... genuinely. Those were human instincts, to be sure, but they were instincts Antonio had laid to rest many years ago. And along came this little Italian, bringing them all back in one fell swoop.

What a strangely welcome feeling, he mused to himself as the door to his cabin swung open.

In walked the Italian with a hot, steaming plate on a wooden tray. The expression on his face was one of carefully arranged displeasure, but it was easy to see through anyway. He averted his eyes as soon as he caught Antonio staring at him.

"... I'm back... _Capitano_."

Oh, he had not just addressed Antonio as his captain... in Italian! The way he said it was irresistible, simply irresistible. The Capitano rewarded Lovino with his brightest grin and bade him come forward.

"About time, mi amigo!" Even if Lovino wasn't one to make small talk, Antonio could always compensate for his silence. "You don't know how starving I am right now... must have been the medicine... but that smells _fantástico_, I can't wait to eat it!"

He thought he caught an eye roll at his enthusiasm. "Like hell it doesn't. We Italians are always the best cooks, hands down."

Well, it was nice to know he had garnered some sort of reaction from Lovino. Antonio made sure to wink at him before taking a bite of the paella. And—yes, there was the blush he had been waiting for!

"Muy delicioso," the Spaniard said appreciatively, and meant it.

Lovino still scowled at him, however, as though Antonio's happy eating vexed him terribly. With a jolt the pirate realized his little prisoner must be hungry, and did the most logical thing under the circumstances. He handed over the spoon.

"Here, have some too!"

The look Lovino gave him was an are-you-fucking-crazy kind of look, as to why he would even _suggest _the idea of sharing food, but all the Spaniard saw was a man gaping at him. Antonio sighed—some people just couldn't recognize a blessing when they saw one—and took the opportunity to insert a spoonful of paella into the Italian's still-open mouth. The reaction was instantaneous: Lovino made a loud noise and nearly choked on his food, unbalancing himself in his chair.

"Wh-what the fuck was that!?" he shouted indignantly after he had (thankfully) swallowed the paella. Antonio gave him a questioning look.

"Did you not like it? You made it, after all!"

"F-fuck you—c-could have—gotten—another damn _spoon_—"

Oh, so it was only _that!_

Antonio laughed merrily. "Why, is it a problem? It saves time though."

Lovino glared at him, red-faced and dangerous-looking.

"Y-you fucking b-bastard, the hell are you planning!?"

"Nothing! We eat like this all the time—"

"No fucking way."

"—And consider this a privilege, your _capitán _is actually sharing food with you!"

"Sh-shut up. I don't fucking want it."

"... Really? All right then, I'll eat it all myself~"

And Antonio proceeded to do so with the utmost relish, eyeing the irked Italian the whole while. Two could play at this game of being difficult, after all, and Antonio always won at his games. Always.

He had plowed halfway through the food when he heard a loud grumble from a nearby stomach.

A few seconds passed, and then Lovino let out a supremely irritated grunt.

"_Ah_, what wonderfully _delicioso _food, I could eat this forever!" Antonio sighed dramatically, with an expression of pure contentment on his face.

Lovino made an even louder displeased noise.

"It tastes so good, almost like _heaven_—"

"F-fucking stop it, you ass! I want my damn food!"

Antonio beamed at him. "Oh, but you must watch your mouth around your capitán—and don't forget to say 'please', Lovi~!"

"D-don't fucking call me—"

"Just one minute before I finish this up!" sang Antonio.

Lovino's murderous-looking glare was worth it all.

"... C-could I... have some of that fu-_food_?" He looked as pained as though he had lost a finger. "... P-_please?_"

Antonio laughed and patted him on the back with his good arm. "See, that wasn't too hard now, was it? Good boy~! You can have all the rest, Lovi!"

The Italian needed no other prompting, and Antonio watched in vicarious pleasure as the paella quickly vanished. Really, but it was so difficult not to like and trust this man, even if they had only just met and had yet to know each other. He was almost familiar, in a way. Rather like...

No.

That one was gone, long gone. There was no hope of ever seeing him again.

He had to stop it.

"What the fuck are you staring at...?" Lovino growled bad-temperedly out of nowhere. Antonio realized he'd been studying the other man's features a bit too long, and gave him a winning smile instead.

"Oh, nothing! I simply wanted to talk."

He thought his voice had been lighthearted enough, but Lovino gave him a look. It was one of those disbelieving glances that meant he had seen through the act. Antonio struggled to keep the façade for a while, tried to clear his thoughts, but felt his mind drift back to the events of the past day. And putting _those _aside was utterly impossible.

He sighed and gave up.

"... You remember that woman who... died, don't you?"

He half-regretted his suddenness; Lovino winced and looked as though he might lose his stomach's contents.

"Of... of course I fucking remember. What about her...?" The Italian's voice rang with caution.

"Well..." Antonio paused. "She was here because she had a son. He joined us. His name was Santiago, and he was the navigator on this ship."

_Was. _

The shift in Lovino's eyes meant he had picked up on the subtle hint.

"—But why the hell are you telling me this?"

Antonio shrugged.

"You're the only one who'll listen."

"_Me!? _But I'm just—I mean—even Eduardo—"

Antonio shook his head and the Italian fell silent.

"Eduardo, sí... there are many things I could trust him with, but not this. He is different from me, and he does not stand for weakness." Lovino nodded slowly. "You, though..."

He found he didn't know what to say. That was a first—Antonio, captain of the _Trinidad_, was always prepared, always knew what to do in the best or worst of times. But then again he had never encountered something like this, some_one _like this. Lovino Vargas was his prisoner and yet not his prisoner, his would-be friend and yet not his friend. Nothing was the way it seemed.

It was complicated.

"You..." Antonio trailed off and shrugged. "You'll listen, sí? I know you won't tell anyone."

After a long silence, the Italian nodded.

"Good." The pirate sighed. "Anyway... her son. Santiago. He betrayed me first, tried to kill me, and so I... punished him. He confessed, said it was his mother. I didn't believe it. Then they told me he... committed suicide, and he was replaced. And _she..._" He gritted his teeth, unwilling to repeat her name. "You saw what happened. It was her too, all along."

Lovino was still silent but his eyes were wide and shocked.

"... I didn't want things to be this way. I only became captain a few days ago and they're all turning against me now. But it wasn't—wasn't _like _that before. When I was still quartermaster... she would save me food, talk to me. She was almost like... a mother."

He took a deep breath to keep his voice from shaking.

"And you know what's strange—I'm the only one who remembers. She and everyone else, they treat it like nothing, and they move on and keep hurting people. But it meant something to me, and I..." He stopped short, realizing how many of his innermost thoughts he had spilled out. A little further, and he might even have gotten _there_, talked about _him_, that one man who...

Antonio summoned his willpower and pushed away the memories before they could resurface. It would not do for a pirate captain to lose it, not in front of his captive.

He smiled weakly at the Italian.

"I'm sorry."

Lovino reached out and took his hand.

* * *

**_Translations_**

_(Advance Note: Please forgive me if I mess up any Spanish/Italian! X'D I'm not a native speaker of either, haha. So please do correct me, I would appreciate it very much!)_

_Lo siento (Spanish) - Sorry_

_Mi amigo (Spanish) - My friend_

_Muy lindo (Spanish) - Very cute_

_Delicioso / Muy delicioso (Spanish) - Delicious / Very delicious_

_Tú eres extraño... pero me caes bien (Spanish) – You're strange… but I like you. (in a friendly way)_

_Capitano (Italian) – Captain_

_Fantástico (Spanish) - Fantastic_

_Capitán (Spanish) - Captain_

* * *

******Emotions, emotions... Poor Antonio and Lovi. :'( They're getting closer though so the Spamano isn't looking very far off! I still thought this was a bit quick though. Tell me what you think! And THANK YOU to all the wonderful people who read/reviewed/faved/followed and all that awesome stuff. It really means a lot to this little closet writer. :'D**


	4. Out of the Ordinary

**Chapter 4 - Out of the Ordinary**

* * *

Morning found Antonio rather quickly, as he had passed a long and fitful night without much sleep. The brilliant sunlight streaming into the room washed over his skin, threw a spark into his eyes and brightened his spirits temporarily, but they fell somewhat as he realized he was alone. Again.

At least no one had attempted to kill him in his sleep; the rebellions seemed to have died down—for now.

He wondered where Lovino was at this early hour.

Not that it was his place to worry, but... it _was_ kind of his place to worry.

He'd saved the man, hadn't he? True, there hadn't been much thought on Antonio's part—no conscious decision had been necessary. Action had been needed, he had acted, and it had turned out to be the right thing to do after all. Perhaps his human instincts truly were still intact, however unlikely that might be. In any case it only made sense to remain loyal and protect Lovino to the end, did it not?

But what that actually meant for the two of them, he did not know.

Strange, really, how that little Italian had already become a part of his waking thoughts. Days ago Antonio would never have dreamed of events taking such a turn—and yet, how the tide had turned since his and Lovino's paths had crossed. Had it not been for yesterday Antonio might simply have labeled him as another of those landlubbers—albeit one with an adorable face and foul mouth—but this same little landlubber had a heart, and he had, impossibly, managed to comfort Antonio.

There had been nothing said the previous afternoon, nothing that could have been said, after Antonio, out of need, had let slip so much. Suddenly their roles had been reversed: Antonio had no longer been the pirate captain but simply a vulnerable, burdened man; Lovino had become not a prisoner but his equal, his confidant. And he had quietly but surely made certain, with that look in his eyes and the touch of his hand, that he had understood. He had sympathized.

He had... _cared_.

It was the most anyone had done for Antonio in a long time.

And something else that he could no longer ignore: there was a connection. A most improbable connection, given the short time since they had met. But it was there. He could _feel _it whenever he so much as glanced at the Italian. And from what he could tell Lovino probably did too.

But what _was_ this? Certainly it couldn't be anything more than friendliness, because that was already pushing it. He knew a time when he had been kind and open—perhaps he still had it in him now—but what difference did it make when he had to lead a ship full of cold-hearted, merciless men? And when Lovino constituted the very lowest of them all...

The pirate sighed and swung his legs over the mattress, forcing himself to get up without the help of his wounded arm. In his experience such thoughts were meant to be dwelt on only briefly, if at all, and then confined to the safety of darkness and solitude. Pondering too much over them led to sentimentality, and then... what else?

He couldn't deal with this, not now.

Instead Antonio focused his energies on finding another shirt to replace the one ruined from the galley incident, which he did not care to remember. The late captain, rest his soul, had truly been one for appearances and left behind a veritable treasure trove of clothes to choose from. All Antonio had to do was not think about the grisly end the other man had met at his hands and things would be fine, guilt-free.

He truly was living the life of a pirate captain.

The weather was much too hot to allow for a concealing doublet, so Antonio had to settle for a shirt with longer sleeves to hide the bandage. The less infirmity one showed, the better. But he had never realized how much he'd depended on his left arm until this moment—even something as simple as putting on clothes became a chore with only one hand. What an embarrassment; he might just have to employ a servant of some sort, simply to _help him put on his clothes._

It was hard to pull his thoughts away from a certain Italian who might be up for the job. Already he could imagine the entire sequence of Lovino's sure to be endearing reaction.

First would come the choking, and staring, and "What the fuck, you perverted asshole!" and then the enticing "Shut the fuck up, or I'll hurt you!" – followed by a characteristically Lovino-like glare and the blush that meant he would go along with it anyway. Really, it _would_ be nice to have him take off Antonio's shirt sometime—

_No! Not right now,_ the voice inside his head shouted indignantly, and the pleasant thoughts slowly faded. He let the smooth silk envelop his arm and then the rest of his upper body. Dios, he had to stop thinking of Lovino at the most inappropriate times. His mind was much too restless this morning to be trusted about anything. This was not how a pirate captain was meant to act.

Hiding everything under a mask of calm, Antonio slowly made his way to the mess deck, barely acknowledging the other pirates who passed by. There were surprisingly few men about this morning. Most of them must have dropped their duties for breakfast—rather odd, considering that the _Trinidad_'s food was barely worthy of thought, much less taste. Unless, of course...

Antonio's hunch was confirmed as he neared the entrance to the mess hall and caught a whiff of the most delicious aroma he had yet encountered. There could only be one explanation for this, and that explanation was probably in the galley. Dishing out heavenly Italian food.

No wonder why breakfast had taken such a high priority today, he thought as he navigated the rows of crowded, irregularly placed tables, following his nose to the galley. Everywhere around him he found small talk, smiles, and laughter, all normally rare commodities, being exchanged today like they had never been absent. If one were to block out the coarse mannerisms, rough accents and the rather unsavory demeanors, the scene might have looked something akin to a boisterous family reunion or other noisy gathering. It was a real sight to see, fascinating in every way. Lovino must have worked some sort of magic into his cooking; nothing like this had ever happened before.

Passing by a rather pleased-looking Eduardo, Antonio stepped into the galley and glanced around very quickly. Sure enough, there stood the little Italian in a corner, busily tending to something simmering in a small pot over the stove. His back was turned to Antonio, but something about his posture told the Spaniard he was in rather high spirits this morning.

Antonio tried to clear his throat, but the loud grumbling of his stomach made as good an announcement as any.

Lovino turned so quickly he nearly tripped and almost dropped his ladle. Upon seeing Antonio, his mouth dropped open in an O shape as his face slowly turned a tomato red.

"Wh-what are _you_ doing here!?"

The Spaniard couldn't help a grin.

"Me? Why, I'm here for food!"

"...Oh." Lovino very cautiously averted his eyes and gestured to the pot in the corner. "I was... going to make pasta and bring it to you, but _they_ kept interrupting." It must have been the pirates—even now there were still men outside shouting cheerfully for second (and third, and fourth) helpings.

But the captain was here now and so he would come first.

"Well, you don't need to! I'll just stay here, sí?" Antonio gave him the most genuine smile he could muster and sat himself down at the kitchen table. Just being here with the Italian did wonders for his mood—although his stomach still needed sustenance. "Hurry up, though, or I might starve to death over here and you wouldn't want that, would you~?"

The flirtatious edge to his voice had not gone unnoticed. "Sh-shut it," Lovino grumbled, retreating to his cook's corner, and Antonio observed with some satisfaction that his ears had turned red. The silence that fell afterwards was bearable, almost comfortable; it wasn't much of a silence anyway, given the continuous flickering of the flames in the makeshift oven and the raucous shouting from beyond. Antonio watched him quietly for a while until anticipation and hunger finally got the better of him.

"Hey, Lovi!" he called. The Italian bristled.

"Don't call me that. What?"

"Are you done yet?"

"No-"

"No?"

"_No_!"

"You're taking a _really long time, _mi amigo!"

"I- I said _not yet_! Just wait a little more!"

"I've been waiting for _hours!"_

"You have not! Just be patient, damn it!"

"My stomach isn't listening!"

"Then tell it to listen!"

Antonio groaned and almost flopped over on the table. "You're killing your poor capitán here, Lovi..."

"I- wow, fuck, don't _pass out _on me! Here!"

The heavenly scent of tomatoes hit Antonio's nose just in time and he decided he wouldn't black out after all. Taking a huge, appreciative whiff of the pasta he swore the smell alone was returning strength to his poor emaciated limbs. Lovino just looked at him fawning over the food as though he were out of his mind.

"You're weird, you know that?"

Yes, Antonio was. Sadly, Lovino probably didn't understand. No one ever had food like this on a pirate ship, especially during a long voyage—anything remotely resembling gourmet (Italian) food had to be sent from the heavens themselves. And as for the cooks... well... they were really something, as Antonio could tell.

"You can _eat_ it, you know," huffed the Italian disdainfully.

"I'm going to!" Then Antonio remembered his legendary captainly generosity just in time. "Want to share?"

"_No._" Apparently Lovino had learned his lesson well; he vanished from Antonio's line of sight and reappeared soon after with his own plate—and spoon—before digging in. "Holy _shit,_ you eat fast," he observed sagely from the other side of the table, watching as Antonio's pasta disappeared within a matter of minutes. The pirate responded with a cheerful grin and a loud belch that earned him a disgusted look from the irritated Italian.

"I'm good at being fast...~"

"Th-the _fuck _are you saying!?" Lovino's face had suddenly turned red as the tomato sauce on his pasta, and Antonio had to convince himself there was a difference. "You made me the cook, so this is _my _kitchen and you c-can't flirt here, damn you!"

"Oh?" Antonio raised an eyebrow. Ah, here came the feistiness! "But elsewhere we can, sí~?"

"_No._"

All right, so Lovino was actually serious today. How disappointing, since that ruined all of Antonio's plans for fun, but he would give the poor overworked man a rest. Besides, he had other things in mind besides making Italians blush, although he had to admit that was quite the entertainment, really.

"Hm... you're very... _proper,_" Antonio remarked, leaning over from his side of the table without warning. The Italian quickly backed away. "Mind... telling me about yourself?"

Lovino made an incredulous sound, looking as though he'd like to get up and flee instead.

"Wh-why?"

"Oh, I just want to know~!"

"What makes you think I would fucking tell you anyway?"

Antonio shrugged, keeping his voice deceptively lighthearted. "I tell you things too."

He felt a little guilty at the look on the Italian's face. This was simply a bargain; he hadn't intended to stir up awkwardness by mentioning yesterday's little talk. But then again he really did want to know something more about Lovino. Pirate wisdom dictated it a necessity, since it was always useful to find out where one's prisoners came from if the need arose for ransom. Antonio had no intention of doing _that,_ however.

He watched as the Italian tensed, flushed and paled in succession, and finally opened his mouth without saying a word.

"Well...?"

As if on cue, Lovino closed his mouth again. "...I already told you."

He had? Antonio had to rack his brain for an answer.

"I don't remember."

"You're forgetful as fuck," said Lovino matter-of-factly.

"... No, you really didn't tell me anything. Who are you?"

"Why are you so interested?" the Italian retorted.

Pause. Antonio thought again, searching for the right words.

"Because you're interesting."

And just like that Lovino was turning red again.

Dios, but judging by appearances, he truly must not receive attention very often. Antonio found that hard to believe—how could anyone _not _notice a swearing, stuttering, blushing little Italian with a tendency toward self-consciousness and a flair for cooking?

"No. I'm not." Little did Antonio know that Lovino was lying through his teeth. "I'm just a stupid asshole who was dumb and slow enough to get kidnapped by nasty pirates, and that's the only reason I'm here."

Ouch.

Antonio decided to evade that barb.

"C'mon, you know that's not true—answer my question, mi amigo! You're from Italy, I'm from Italy! Couldn't we get to know each other—"

"Wait." Lovino stared at him in wonder. "You... you said you were from Italy...?"

Ah, he had let too much slip there.

But Antonio had thought it was obvious enough. Lovino was bound to have noticed his lack of coarse pirate speech sooner or later, anyway. Antonio might have spent thirteen years at sea robbing unsuspecting ships with his fellow mates, but he had never managed (or even tried) to pick up their accent. Pirates, prisoners, and foes alike always seemed to prefer his Spanish inflection—except for a certain _estúpido _Englishman, but that was beside the point.

"Sí, I am..." he replied cautiously after a moment. "Does that mean you are not?"

"No, no." Lovino shook his head, brows suddenly furrowed as though he were trying to recall something. "I-I just..."

"What?"

"...Never mind."

It was Antonio's turn to frown then. "Is there something I should know about?"

"N-no..."

Antonio's gaze fixed on him, but Lovino glanced away instead, fidgeting awkwardly in his seat. A short, tense silence fell as neither moved to elaborate upon the question. When a few moments had passed and Antonio had still received no reply, the pirate sighed and decided to let it go temporarily. There was always time to find out later.

"Well, I'll be going now," he announced abruptly. Lovino didn't answer, and Antonio pushed his chair back, standing up to leave. His little visit had gone more poorly than he'd expected, which was rather disheartening. Only when he was halfway to the door did he remember his original purpose for stopping by, and turned back to face the still-seated Italian.

"Oh... by the way..."

Lovino finally raised his eyes to meet Antonio's.

"Sì?"

Antonio hesitated for a split second.

"Gracias, Lovino."

The look in the Italian's eyes told Antonio his thanks had been accepted, and understood. It was a knowing glance, yet not of the unfriendly sort, and their eyes remained locked this time, green with hazel. A little more than a minute flew by before Lovino finally answered.

"... Prego."

You're welcome.

_You're welcome._

He had said, _you're welcome_. Another incongruity in an already incongruous series of events—the mouse had not minded helping the cat in the slightest. And that meant things between them, if there had ever been any, would no longer be the same.

Yet Antonio found his spirits had risen and his heart all but sang as he returned to his duties as captain.

* * *

_"Watch it, child!"_

_A tall man with a little daughter in tow ran by, evidently in a hurry, and brushed past a small boy, nearly knocking him down with the force of their passing. The boy swayed but caught his balance at the last minute, and recovered quickly, already utterly absorbed in the sights and sounds and smells of the outdoors. Venice. Città de Luce. The heart and soul of the world, center of riches and glory. It was paradise for any traveler, but especially for the boy standing alone in the crowded street, looking around him like he had never seen such a beautiful place before._

_He walked along, the expression on his face more of stupefied surprise than actual pleasure. Any passerby would have noted at a glance that he did not quite belong in the tumbled dust of Venice's busy streets. His clothes were clean and well-made; he wandered about aimlessly; if he had parents they were nowhere in sight. And his eyes held a spark of cleverness along with a desire for youthful adventures. His skin was pale, a sharp contrast to that of any sun-tanned Venetian. One might conclude the boy had never been outdoors, or that he simply came from somewhere farther north._

_And he couldn't have been more than ten years old, but he was short for his age. As it was no one took much notice of him; he was simply another small child among the many loud merchants' offspring who raced about the streets shouting and laughing. This boy was quiet, however, content to watch and listen._

_"Hey, little lad, you look hungry. Want to buy candy?"_

_The speaker was a rather ragged-looking vendor with a friendly face. Having been sitting under the eaves of a building, he now moved forward to offer his wares to the little boy. The child realized he was hungry and reached into his pocket for coins, but to his dismay found none._

_"I don't have money, sir," he said regretfully. The man nodded in understanding and had just made to turn away, when footsteps and a new voice sounded from behind them._

_"Wait, I'll pay!"_

_A taller boy with strikingly wild brown hair approached and promptly dropped a few coins into the man's hand. "Just one, please," he said in polite Italian and then accepted the sweets from the peddler, before pressing them into the smaller boy's hands._

_"G-grazie," the first stammered, eyes wide in surprise at the sudden gift._

_"Of course! Have it all, I don't mind!"_

_They ended up sharing anyway._

_The younger boy couldn't help staring in awe at his new benefactor. No child ever forgets his first friend. He was several heads taller, with an open face, a friendly smile, and green eyes that glowed when he talked. From his looks he was several years older and had the air of a jovial older brother._

_"So, what's your name?"_

_"...R-Romano." _

_Having thus introduced himself, Romano gave a quick, awkward nod, then busied himself with the sweet treats. The other boy was still watching him and he gave a small laugh: a merry, cheerful sound. _

_"Oh, that's a nice name. Hello to you, little Roma. You can call me Toni!" He stretched out a rather large sun-tanned hand, and the smaller boy hesitantly shook it._

_"Toni," said Romano slowly, the name strange on his tongue. "Hello," he repeated, and the boy called Toni chuckled again, patting his back this time._

_"Hello, hello. I haven't seen you around before! Why are you out here by yourself?"_

_Romano was unsure how to answer. But being a child, and a young one at that, he told the truth._

_"I... ran away."_

_Toni glanced at him in surprise. "Really?"_

_"No one lets me come out here," Romano explained conspiratorially. "So I came here myself."_

_"...Oh." The older boy looked somewhat concerned. "Well, you should go back! You might get lost."_

_"No I won't," scoffed Romano. "My Nonno was a sailor and he says I have his instincts."_

_Toni observed him dubiously for a moment, then drew back with a grin._

_"All right. I believe you. You're a cute little thing."_

_"A-am not!" Romano protested, his face showing telltale signs of embarrassment. Toni laughed and ruffled his hair, which didn't help the boy's discomfort._

_"Aw, you are! Anyway, I've been here all my life, so I could show you around. Want to come with me?"_

_Romano's face lit up and he nodded eagerly before remembering something._

_"Sì, I will! Only... you must promise."_

_"Promise what?"_

_"Not to tell. If anyone finds out I'm here then I'm _dead meat._"__ Romano made a face to prove his point._

_"Don't worry, little Roma, I won't."_

_The boy was not so easily convinced, however. _

_"Pinky swear," he pouted, holding out his hand. Toni gave him a large grin and did the same, locking their pinky fingers together, one pale, one slightly darker._

_"There. Now it's sealed. I'll keep your secret forever!" he said earnestly, and Romano believed him because his green eyes were sincere. The two exchanged conspiratorial smiles, and then Toni grabbed hold of Romano's hand._

_"Let's go, shall we?"_

_And that was how their friendship began._

* * *

**Translations**

_Dios (Spanish) – God_

_Mi amigo (Spanish) – My friend_

_Capitán (Spanish) – Captain_

_Estúpido (Spanish) - Stupid_

_Gracias (Spanish) – Thank you_

_Prego (Italian) – You're welcome_

_Città de Luce (Italian) – City of Lights, another name for Venice_

_Grazie (Italian) – Thank you_

* * *

**This was quite mixed-up, haha. Any guesses for what's actually going on? :3**

**Oh, and the next updates will probably be delayed by a week or two because some rather important exams are coming up. Thank you all!**


	5. Conflicting Interests

**Chapter 5 - Conflicting Interests**

* * *

"I'm tired," said Lovino out loud to nobody in particular.

He was utterly alone in the small stuffy cabin, hemmed in on all sides by wooden walls and a single porthole opening to the light and sea air. But the dim afternoon and the occasional breaths of salty wind weren't enough to support the imprisoned Italian, and had never been. He was amazingly exhausted. Somehow day after day of continuous work wasn't helping his physique or his temper.

That had probably been the pirates' intention from the beginning. What luck.

But the floor was still streaked with the muck every single pirate seemed to bring along with him. Lovino tiredly hefted the mop and resumed his attack on the filth, although he knew it was useless. Sooner or later some other man would come along and ruin his hours of careful cleaning and scrubbing. It was bound to happen, and Lovino was bound to stay there anyway.

Work, sleep, and maybe eat a little—that was what Lovino had learned would sustain (or more accurately, kill) him on this ship.

He fervently wished pirates had mealtimes all day, just so he could stay in the galley doing what he did best: cook and eat. But of course nothing ever went his way. When not cooking, he was expected to be cleaning. When not cleaning, he was expected to be cooking. Rest was unheard-of, until those wee hours of the morn when Lovino was free to stumble about and find an abandoned corner to collapse in.

And that damned pirate captain _never said a word about it_. Some kind of friend he was turning out to be—but 'friend' was also another concept that pirates found foreign. Lovino was very much aware of his own lowly status here. And it seemed that the more valuable a prisoner was, the harder he would have to work to ensure his compliance. At least that was how Lovino saw it. He saw many things now.

He could also see a framed portrait hanging in the corner by the window. The glass enclosing the picture was dusty, and the entire affair looked as though it hadn't been touched in years—that would have to be amended, thought the Italian as he clambered up on a chair and painstakingly wiped the murkiness away.

She was elegantly painted—so much so as to be almost real. The possibility of life and movement shone from the folds of her dress to her glowing cheeks and bright, knowing green eyes.

Those eyes reminded him, almost, of Carriedo.

He sighed and let his cleaning rags fall limp in his hand as he gazed up at the portrait. Why did everything here remind him of some sort of faded glory that could never be regained? It was a melancholy feeling that hit Lovino as he stood there in solemn silence before the picture of the fair lady. The lady who looked too brilliant here, too out of place, surrounded by dank wooden walls and stale sea air and strained sunlight.

She was imprisoned just like him.

The thought gave Lovino a bit of comfort, in that he wasn't alone.

"Signora," he began suddenly, "You've been here a long time, haven't you?"

_Sì, _he could imagine her saying, _of course I have. I've seen a lot of things, you know. It's not peaceful here at all. Just one fight after another._

It was, of course, that voice inside his head, echoing his thoughts. He laughed bitterly with it.

"You're very right about that, mia signora. I don't like it here either. Fuck that—I _hate _it here. If we hadn't set sail, maybe I'd have jumped out the window and swum back or died trying—would've been better than staying here working my life away." Lovino sighed tiredly. "I don't know what the hell was going on when I let myself get captured like this. Must've been drunk. Actually, I kind of wish I was drunk. Then maybe this would all just be a dream."

_A dream, you say...? _

He _had_ had a dream. Earlier in the morning, during one of those toss-and-turn sleeps from which some pirate always kicked him awake. But it had been a strange dream, one of those haunting childhood memories he hated so much and tried his best to forget. They always came back though, in some eerie shape or other—and even now they were threatening to flood in again, fighting the battered mental barriers he had set up against them.

A flash of green eyes.

Green like the woman's.

Green like Carriedo's.

And yet, not like Carriedo's. Not like anyone else's. None of it.

Not those eyes, not that smile.

Because he was dead. He wasn't here anymore. There was no way.

Absolutely no way.

He didn't want to remember.

_He didn't want to remember._

Quickly Lovino continued on.

"...Y-yeah, I-I mean, maybe the pirate captain is a bit friendlier and better-looking than the rest, but—did I really fucking say he was good-looking. I don't give a damn anymore. Nothing about this place is _right, _you know? It's just a bunch of lawbreakers, and violent ones at that. They're—they're fucking _messed up. _Two people died in the last day, _two! _And—and they still treat it like it's nothing... except him..."

That thought made him pause for just a moment. But Lovino's overwhelming desire soon returned to him.

"I just... want to leave. Don't you?"

He swore that as the ship swayed, he saw the woman's head nod in agreement.

At least someone understood...

The Italian leaned wearily against the wall and looked out at the window. Freedom shone outside in the clear blue waves and the distant land that he knew lay beyond, but it was still out of reach, all of it.

"I just want to go home..." he muttered to himself.

But no one was there to hear or help, except the silent image of the woman hanging on the wall beside him.

* * *

_Night had fallen over Italy, reminding its inhabitants that they had yet to return home and rest in preparation for a new day. People were obliging, merchants packing up their wares for safety purposes, and other passersby simply making the long trek home. _

_Two boys raced between the crowds, one highly nervous, the other on the brink of tears._

_"You meanie," Romano shouted as they ran along. "You lied! You lied about the time and now they're going to KILL me!"_

_"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I really am! But I didn't know it was late, really I didn't! I'm sorry—"_

_"Apology not accepted!" _

_"Aw, but Roma—"_

_"No!"_

_"I swear I'll—"_

_"No, shut up!" _

_The Italian boy's voice cracked slightly and Toni stared at him in shock. _

_"Roma—are you okay?"_

_Romano sniffled and rubbed his nose and turned away, refusing to answer. But the tears on his face gave him away. And Toni's guilty look only made him feel even worse._

_"Roma..."_

_"Go away."_

_Toni observed him very solemnly and sadly, then suddenly lifted the small boy in his arms. Romano squawked and flailed and protested, but to no avail._

_"Let go of me!"_

_"No!"_

_"Are you going to kidnap me—?"_

_"Of course not!" Toni exclaimed, green eyes huge and aghast. "I'm taking you home, all right? And you can blame me all you want when we talk to your Nonno."_

_Romano huffed and stayed silent, his own form of affirmation. _

_They continued on._

_"... Uh, so where's your house, Roma?" _

_The Italian whimpered a little._

_"I-I don't remember."_

"What?"

_"I don't remember!" wailed Romano. "I-I know I climbed over the wall, and I saw the candy man in the corner, and the people selling jewels, and that's it!"_

_"Not the street?" Toni attempted futilely._

_"N-no."_

_"Darn... do you know what it looks like? Your house?"_

_"It—it has two stone lions in front of the gate. And the gate is painted gold... there's a wall around it too."_

_Toni nodded._

_"And... and the house is big. It has three floors. It shines like ivory when the sun comes out..."_

_"...All right." The older boy seemed deep in thought. "I think I know where that is... where the rich people live, huh?"_

_"I don't know."_

_"Okay, let's go see..."_

_Several turns in the road later they came to the wealthy quarter of Venice and Romano cried out in joy. Sure enough there stood his house—or rather, mansion—at the end of the street. He jumped out of Toni's arms and ran to the wall, completely disregarding the other boy._

_"Oh, there you are, Romano. Where did you romp off to today?"_

_The Italian nearly fell off the wall in shock. There stood Nonno at the top, voice dangerously cheerful and face dangerously placid. Romano knew full well he was in trouble of the deepest kind._

_He felt a hand grab onto his shirt, steadying him from behind as he clambered back down, frightened and nervous._

_"Well?" Nonno said sternly from above._

_Romano didn't know what to say._

_"Toni," he whispered, turning, "can't you—"_

_He wasn't there._

_No one was there. The night was silent; the road behind Romano was deserted, as though it had always been that way._

_"Aren't you coming in, Roma?" Nonno was saying. "The gates are open. Who are you waiting for?"_

_"I—There was a—another boy—"_

_"Come in and tell me about it."_

_Gulping, the little Italian entered the courtyard and followed his Nonno shakily into the house. The gate slammed shut behind them with finality._

_Romano was questioned thoroughly, received his due scolding and was sent up to bed without dinner. He had no further punishment for the night except to sit and rethink his rash actions in private. Alone in his room, he stared out the window at nothing in particular._

_The boy called Toni had vanished just like that, without a trace. Without even revealing much about himself besides his name. But he knew quite enough about Romano already—that he was wealthy, lived in this house, which everyone knew belonged to the Vargas family. Sure, he'd taken Romano home this time, but Nonno had expressed his concern. What if he decided to—_

_A crackle sounded somewhere inside his clothes as he shifted. It was a crumpled scrap of paper that fell out of his shirt. Tentatively Romano unfolded it._

_Just three words, in messy scratchy handwriting._

I'll be back.

* * *

"Hey, wake up," a voice whispered, followed by someone shaking him lightly. He heard himself make a noise and try to go back to sleep.

"C'mon, get up."

"...Don' wanna," mumbled Lovino.

"I have tomatoes, mi amigo!" the voice crooned. Oh God, that voice sounded _awfully fucking familiar—_

Lovino cracked one eye open.

"Wh-what the _fuck _do you wa—" He stopped as _that face _came into full focus and froze mid-thought. "Oh _shit_."

"Why, aren't you happy to see me, Lovi?"

Carriedo somehow had the presence (or non-presence) of mind to look chastened.

"_Don't_ call me Lovi," the Italian in question groaned automatically as he sat up. His limbs were blocks of lead and his head felt as though someone had slammed a sandbag into it. "Where the fuck am I?"

"I don't know!" the captain said airily. "I came into my cabin just now and found you lying on the floor!"

_My cabin._

_His _cabin.

_Carriedo's_ cabin.

"Holy mother of fuck."

"... Wait, where are you going?"

"Nowhere," growled Lovino, trying to free his arm from the pirate's surprisingly strong grasp. Carriedo smiled sweetly and didn't let go.

Damn him.

How the fuck had Lovino ended up in his fucking _cabin_, of all places!? And how in hell had the Spaniard managed to show up at the worst possible time? He had just caught Lovino napping on the job. Who knew what misfortunes would befall him and what tortures he might have to undergo at the hands of this smiling bastard.

Oh, the wonders that happened here day after day.

"Are you all right, Lovi?" the captain asked kindly, having noticed Lovino's darkening expression.

A straight answer was necessary, and a straight answer was given.

"_No."_

Carriedo's face fell. "Ah—well, lo siento about that... but since you're here, I need to ask you something."

His solemn tone of voice caused Lovino to fall silent. He did his best instead to look stupid and obedient, although judging by the half-confused, half-choking-back-laughter look on his target's face, it wasn't working.

"Anyway, I need to tell you... it's about Italy. We need to stop soon for supplies before going on to Venice. The new navigator told me we can do that at Gallipoli—we'll be there in a few hours."

Lovino stopped moving altogether and stared at him.

"Well?" The captain sat back and waited patiently, probably for a positive response. "Do you know anything about Gallipoli, Lovi?"

The Italian tried this time to look stupid and indifferent.

"...No, I don't."

The Spaniard's mouth fell open in obvious surprise.

"You... you _don't?"_

In any other situation Lovino would have laughed his ass off, except this was serious and his life was, quite literally, hanging on the line.

"No," he said firmly, and waited.

For a moment there was no answer.

"But..." Carriedo stood and paced around the room—nervously, it seemed. That was new. And actually rather unnerving. "You're Italian... don't you know even a little bit about the cities there?"

Lovino did, in fact. But if he could safely withhold his knowledge from the pirates then at least fewer people would be harmed. When these people happened to be fellow Italians then the stakes were high indeed.

"For the last time, I don't. I can tell you all the damn names of the pasta we cook, but I don't know shit about Gallipoli. _Mi spiace_, Carriedo. I couldn't tell you if I tried."

The man before him sighed.

"But we have to tell them _something_."

Now it was Lovino's turn to gape at him.

He could have lost his temper, lashed out at Lovino, and killed him even— but _this?_

"You—you're suggesting we _make things up?"_

Shrug from the pirate captain. "Why not?"

Lovino wanted to laugh. He couldn't believe this was actually happening.

"So it's the crew who wants to hear it, then?"

"Sí." Carriedo made a noncommittal noise. "It doesn't really matter if we're right or wrong. They won't be able to tell the difference if you don't say anything important. All they want is confirmation that we'll find something there. You know what I mean, don't you?"

This Lovino knew very well. He knew several things very well—except one.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

Lovino snorted.

"You know what I mean. _This. _Are you seriously trying to help me? Or save me? Or some shit like that?"

Carriedo's green eyes fixed on him. They didn't leave Lovino's face for several seconds. After a moment he shrugged again.

"Maybe I am."

"Why?"

"Because I feel like it."

"I'm pretty sure not one pirate captain out there would simply 'feel like' helping a prisoner out."

"Well, there's me."

The Italian scowled.

"You're avoiding the damn question."

"Because I can. I'm the _capitán_, remember?"

If Carriedo's smile became any snarkier Lovino would, quite possibly, punch his face in.

"Pulling that one on me, are you? Well fine. Nice favor you've done for me. _Molto grazie._ Tell them what you want. Maybe there's treasure in the sea about three leagues from shore. What the hell. I don't fucking care."

He stood up and made his way to the door.

"Why are you so angry?" Carriedo had the audacity to sound _hurt_.

Lovino had one hand on the door latch. Very slowly he let go and turned to face the Spaniard.

"Because you're playing around with me. You laugh at me. You think I'm just a little prisoner who can't do anything to you because you're the fucking _captain. _Well, go right ahead. I don't give a shit anymore. You'll find out soon enough."

Not waiting for a reply, he left.

* * *

Nighttime found him concealed under a pile of canvas in the corner of the deck.

All was calm; the moon was bright in the darkness. It shone over the quiet ship and the lone Italian looking out over the sea.

Gallipoli.

Freedom.

So close, and yet so far away.

* * *

**_Translations_**

_Signora (Italian) – Madam_

_Mia signora (Italian) – My lady_

_Mi amigo (Spanish) – My friend_

_Lo siento (Spanish) – I'm sorry_

_Mi spiace (Italian) – I'm sorry_

_Molto grazie (Italian) __– Thanks a lot_

_Gallipoli (Greek, Kallipolis meaning 'Beautiful City') is a town in the province of Lecce in Apulia, Southern Italy. It was controlled by the Spanish Aragonese around the 16th century._

* * *

**Ugh, finally I updated. This was the hardest thing ever to write, plus a lot of things have been going on which will limit my going onto this site. Sorry for the long wait and thanks for all your patience! You're all so awesome ;u; especially the one for whom all this was written. ;D**


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